Infinite Futures
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: NFA Arcane Challenge entry. McGeecentric, AU, Scifi, angst. What if you could see the future... all of them? Now complete. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This was written for the NFA Arcane Challenge. Arcane is strange or weird, supernatural. The following story is my interpretation. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** As will be patently obvious by the way this story goes, I am not the owner of NCIS, real or fictional... and I'm sure Tim is glad of it.

* * *

**Infinite Futures**

**Chapter 1**

It had been a long, boring day thus far. They had worked frantically on a case round the clock for about a week and then...nothing. They still had to come to work though. Tim stared dully at his computer screen, not even seeing what was there. Tony was actually dozing and Ziva looked as bored as he did. Tim turned his head as a small movement caught his eye. There was... _someone_ walking toward the hallway... someone very familiar... _very_ familiar. So familiar that... Tim stood and followed the shadowed figure. No one else was there and the man, all dressed in black, turned around.

Tim stopped dead in his tracks, his mind struggling to come to grips with what his eyes were telling him. "This... no... this... it's impossible," he said. "You... you're..."

"Stop babbling," came the voice which exactly mirrored his own. Tim was hearing his own voice coming from his own lips... from the man who was also Timothy McGee standing across the hallway from him. "What do they call you here?"

"Tim... well, actually, they call... me McGee most of the time or sometimes Probie or..."

"Too much information," Tim heard himself say. He was staring dumbfounded at the harshly-lined face of a man who looked just like him... who _was_ him. He didn't know how he knew that so firmly, but it was true. Only this Timothy McGee had experienced things Tim never had. His eyes bore more similarity to Gibbs' sharp blue eyes than Tim's own soft green. "They call me Mac. You can think of me that way. I've done my part and now it's your turn."

"My... turn? For what?" Tim stammered.

The eyes softened. "I don't blame you. I felt the same way when Timothy came to me. I'm just passing on the responsibility. You have to save your team. It's more important than anything else. Your team _needs_ to survive."

"Survive... what?" Tim asked, mentally cataloging this interaction as the weirdest he'd ever had... if he was really having it, of course.

"You'll see. Then, you'll have to pass it off... but only if you succeed."

"When? How? I don't understand."

"You will."

"When?"

"Now." Mac's face became set with determination and he took a step toward Tim with his hands coming up.

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"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked as he came down from Jenny's office.

"Huh?" Tony came out of his doze with a slight jump and Ziva looked up dumbly from her computer screen. Obviously, they'd been burned out and now were bored out of their minds. A bad combination.

"McGee, Tony. You know, usually sits at that desk over there?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh, right. McGee... uh..." he looked around. "I... uh... don't see him, Boss."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, gave Tony a quick headslap, and walked over to the hallway to see if Tim had gone over there. He had. Tim was standing in the hallway, apparently staring at the wall.

"McGee!" No response. In fact, Tim said nothing so firmly that Gibbs was actually a little worried. "McGee?" He reached the seemingly frozen agent and caught a glimpse of his face. He was white as a sheet, his eyes open nearly as wide as his mouth, through which air was circulating loudly. "McGee!"

Finally, Tim's mouth closed and very slowly, he formed a single word. "Boss?" Then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slowly toppled to the ground before Gibbs could do more than gape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim opened his eyes and realized that the world had changed. Things that had been vertical before were now most definitely horizontal. Or maybe... his sluggish mind registered the fact that he currently was feeling something hard against his back. The wall? No. The wall was over there. It must be the floor.

"McGee, are you alright?" Gibbs face suddenly appeared above Tim's head. He took a moment to pay attention to their relative positions. Interesting shift in perspective from standing upright to laying on the floor. "McGee?"

Tim tried to figure out how he was feeling. As he opened his mouth to speak, a sudden flood of images stopped his answer. Simultaneously, he saw what would happen to him based on how he answered. The visions all happened at the same time, but somehow he was able to follow each one.

"_Yes." Then, he started to stand up... then, he fell over again, nearly cracking his head against the wall. He would have hit the ground if Gibbs hadn't caught him. Then, Ducky came._

"_No." He spilled out what had just happened and after a series of increasingly hysterical exchanges, he was locked in a cell in a straightjacket._

"_I don't know." He stayed on the floor for awhile and Ducky came and looked him over._

_He stayed silent. Tony came by and teased him for being such a wuss._

After the succession of images, Tim refocused on Gibbs' face and was surprised that he didn't seem anymore annoyed or worried than he had before the flood. It seemed to have taken no time at all, and yet also hours. He was still so foggy that he didn't really pay attention to what it meant at first.

"Yes. I'm fine." Tim started to stand and then felt as though all the blood in his head drained out, leaving him empty and off-balance. He reeled and would have hit the wall but Gibbs managed to catch him this time and ease him back onto the ground.

"I don't think so, McGee. I called for Ducky. He'll be here soon."

"He's already here, Jethro. Speak of the devil and all," Ducky said as he approached. "What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Gibbs said, looking down at Tim again. He noticed that for a split second, Tim's face went completely blank, almost as if Tim had briefly died. He didn't know where that idea had come from and shook it off quickly.

"I..." Tim paused, reeling from the futures he had seen as he decided how to answer. "I... am not sure. I... saw... someone and came to talk to them."

"Who?"

"I don't know." That was true. He couldn't tell Gibbs just where his doppelganger had come from. "I came and talked and then I saw you and... I was on the floor." Not his most eloquent speech ever, but until he could figure this out, he had no intention of telling _anyone_ what was happening. The futures had been very clear on that.

"My goodness, Timothy. If your heart was beating any faster..."

"I think it was, Ducky."

"Well, you're going to stay right here until I tell you otherwise."

"Will he be alright, Ducky?"

"In about an hour or so, yes, I think so."

Gibbs looked at his watch. "We have a crime scene."

Ducky looked down in alarm as Tim's heart rate seemed to skyrocket in less than a second.

"I have to come with you, Boss!" Tim started to stand again and had to be caught, once more, by Ducky.

"I don't think so, Timothy! You wouldn't make it to the car. Now, sit down." Ducky easily pushed Tim back to the floor.

"No! I _have_ to come!"

"Why?" Ducky asked and saw, like Gibbs had, that strange blankness flicker across his face.

"I... It could be... dangerous."

"No more or less dangerous than any other crime scene, McGee," Gibbs said.

"It could be, Boss!" Tim said, desperately. He tried to fight Ducky's restraining arms but failed miserably.

"McGee, you're not coming and that's an order." Gibbs turned to leave.

Tim finally subsided. "Boss?"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs turned back.

"Just... just be really careful, okay? I mean, these guys could have stayed behind and hidden in the... in the garage or something."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Just be careful, please?"

"We're always careful, McGee."

Tim watched in despair as Gibbs walked away down the hall and shouted for Tony and Ziva to gear up. He had failed. He knew it. His head dropped into his hands, no longer paying any attention to Ducky's presence. All that mattered was that he had killed his team because he couldn't go with them and he couldn't stop them from going. He had seen the possibilities. There was one, that he somehow knew was very remote, that he could warn them strongly enough to put them on their guard. It hadn't been enough. Gibbs just thought he was being weird. He had killed them all. He had failed and the whole chain was going to be broken because this Tim wasn't good enough to pull it off.

"I ruined it all," he whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Ruined all what, Timothy?"

Tim jumped a little at Ducky's question but didn't look up. "Everything, Ducky. I ruined everything." He was almost crying.

"I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"I'm not. How could I have been so _stupid_?"

"I think you need to calm down, Timothy," Ducky warned. He was still checking Tim's heart rate which had not abated at all. In fact, every sentence Tim uttered seemed to be preceded by a surge in his heart rate. "You're going to wear out your heart at this rate."

"It doesn't really matter now, Ducky."

"It _does_ matter. You haven't told us everything, have you? What happened in here?"

Again, there was that surge and this time, Ducky also noticed that the blankness that momentarily took over Tim's facial expression occurred simultaneously.

"I... I've told you everything, Ducky."

"No, you haven't, Timothy. I know you well enough to know when you are lying."

"I've told you everything that I am sure of."

"Which is as much as to say that you are not telling me everything."

Tim just shrugged and didn't reply.

"Do you feel like you could stand up, now?"

Again, that blank look passed over Tim's face. Then, he nodded. "Yeah, I think so." With Ducky's help, he levered himself upright. "I think I'm just going to stand here for a minute or two."

"Probably wise. You look a little pale." That was the understatement of the decade, Ducky decided. Tim looked like death warmed over. He waited to see if Tim would say more, but he didn't. He just looked incredibly tense and depressed. After a few minutes, his face went blank again and he started to walk back to the bullpen. Once he got to his desk, he put his head into his hands again and just seemed to be waiting.

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Tim clenched his fists tightly every time he suffered from another barrage of infinite futures. He kept trying to think of something else to do, but the visions kept getting in the way. He didn't know what was going to happen next because he wasn't there. But the different possibilities repeated in his head over and over again. Were they all going to die? Was Tony going to get a flesh wound while Ziva took out one of the bad guys? Would Gibbs get the drop on them all but be killed in the process? Anything less than total success would be a failure. He jumped to his feet when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Timothy! That's the third time I've said your name!" Ducky exclaimed. He looked worried. Tim knew that he wasn't doing a good job of hiding his torment. He felt a tugging on his clenched fist and followed Ducky's gaze down to his palms. "What's wrong?"

Tim looked with a strange detachment at the bloody marks his nails had gouged into his palms. No, he was not doing a good job of hiding how he felt. He was saved the trouble of answering Ducky's question by a shout for one of the other teams.

"Shots fired! They need backup!" A group ran for the elevator without a second's hesitation. Tim stood there and clenched his fists again as he faced another set of visions... most of them ending in a cemetery. He only opened his eyes when he felt Ducky shaking him.

"Sit down, Timothy, or you'll fall over and I don't think I could catch you." Ducky pushed Tim down and he more or less wilted into his chair, still tense as a bowstring. Tim found that he couldn't speak, couldn't get past all the horrific futures he could see: Tony in a coma, Ziva bleeding to death on the driveway, Gibbs shooting the bad guys one by one. The awful futures were interspersed with random mundane futures as well: the team stuck in traffic, clearing the scene, waiting at a red light. But by and large most of the scenes were terrible.

Tim waited... and waited. Then, his phone rang. He stared at it but couldn't make himself move to answer it. Ducky looked at him for a moment and then picked up the phone.

"Yes? Ah, I see. You'll be needing my services then? Yes, of course. He is. No. All right, Jethro." He hung up and looked at Tim again. Tim simply sat and stared, waiting for the casualty list. "They're all fine, Timothy. Tony got a graze on the arm from a ricochet, but the only fatalities were on the part of the three men..." he paused and looked at Tim more closely. "...the three men who were hiding in the garage. Ziva arrested one and Gibbs killed the others. That's good, isn't it?"

Tim couldn't answer. He stood and ran by Ducky toward the men's room. When he heard the door open a few minutes later, he was still heaving and crying. In a small corner of his mind, he was just grateful that he'd made it all the way to the toilet before puking his guts out.

"Tim?"

Oh, no. That wasn't Ducky. That was Abby. Tim tried to push down the bile, but his stomach insisted on completely emptying its contents. The door to the stall opened and he felt Abby's hands on his shoulders.

"It's okay, Tim. Whatever it is, it's okay." She stayed right next to him until the vomiting stopped and he leaned back against the wall of the stall.

"This is... a men's room, Abby. Are you taking lessons from Ziva?" he tried to joke.

"I don't need Ziva's help to come into the men's room, Tim. What happened? Ducky said that you were sick."

Tim hid his palms by pressing them against the floor. "I think that I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me."

"Is that why you didn't go out to the scene?"

Tim hesitated, but Abby missed the blankness. "Yeah. I'm not feeling very well."

"You should go home then."

Tim considered the futures that arose with that possibility. It was a not bad selection. He knew that he'd be having nightmares, but those nightmares would be coming regardless. Everyone would come back. If he stayed, there were a hundred different iterations of Tony and Ziva giving him grief, Gibbs grilling him about what had happened and Ducky trying to get to the root of his physical distress. If he went home, the possibilities were a lot fewer and most of them involved some down time.

"I think you're right."

"Can you make it?" Abby sounded really concerned.

"Yeah, I'll make it." Tim stumbled over to a sink and tried to make himself look a little more human and less like a zombie. When he was finally satisfied that he could put one foot in front of the other without kissing the floor, he straightened. "Thanks, Abby."

"For what?"

"For being here." Tim hugged her briefly and then left, intent on getting out of the building before Gibbs, Tony and Ziva got back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tim entered his apartment in a kind of haze, bypassing the kitchen. Puking had a way of turning one off the thought of eating. He went to his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, closing his eyes to the world around him. ...when he opened them again, he wasn't alone.

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"Gibbs! I'm glad everyone is okay," Abby said flinging her arms around Gibbs as soon as he walked in the lab.

"Later, Abby. I need you to pull up some surveillance video from NCIS."

"Your wish is my command, my master." Abby released Gibbs and took up her position at the computer. "Which video, what time?"

"The hallway by the bullpen about five hours ago."

"What for?"

"You'll see." Gibbs had come back intending to ask Tim what had really happened and was annoyed that he had left. Ducky had told him that Tim was obviously not telling them everything and that he had made himself sick with worrying.

"Okay, here we are," Abby said. "Uh, there's nothing there, Gibbs."

"Just wait for it." Gibbs stared at the screen, hoping that there really _had_ been someone in the hall with Tim.

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"You haven't failed... yet," Mac said, his tone indicating that he didn't have high hopes that Tim eventually _would_ succeed.

Tim sat up staring at the ten other McGees facing him.

"But..."

"They're still alive. You haven't reached it yet," another McGee said.

"Are you really here?" he asked.

The McGee on the far right hand side chuckled. "Good question. In a manner of speaking... only this time, unlike this afternoon, no one else could see us. We're in your head."

"Why?"

"Because of the principle of causality," the right-hand McGee said.

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"Okay, here's someone. He's avoiding the camera though," Abby said.

"Are you sure he knows it's there?"

"Yeah, definitely. People who don't want to be seen would duck their head that way."

"He looks familiar, though."

"Yeah, in height and build, he's a lot like McGee... only Goth... well, not really Goth because there's obviously more to it than just wearing dark clothes like this guy is and..." Abby broke off as Tim came into the shot. "...well, it's not McGee since he's right there." They watched in silence as the two men spoke briefly. Then, there was a burst of static and when the video resumed, the man was gone and Tim was staring at the wall. A minute later, Gibbs came down the hall and they watched as Tim keeled over.

"Ow! That looks like it really hurt."

"What was that static, Abby?"

"I don't know, Gibbs. It was in the video itself." She backed it up. "See? The time stamp is consistent. We only lost about twenty seconds of the shot. So, where did that guy go?"

"No one else saw him. Only McGee."

"That's not possible, Gibbs. He would have had to get past the bullpen in order to get out of the building."

"Considering Tony's and Ziva's mental states at the time, I'm not surprised they didn't notice," Gibbs commented drily.

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"Causality?"

"In Stoicism, there is a principle of a network of causes running through the entire cosmos. Each effect relies, not just on one cause, but on a series of causes so intertwined that teasing out a single cause is impossible," the right-hand McGee explained.

"I don't get it," Tim said. "Are you trying to tell me that you're all from different planets or something?"

"No, Tim. I used cosmos deliberately. It has more meanings than universe."

Tim's eyes went wide.

"You're starting to get it."

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Abby grinned. "Okay, so, what did Tim say happened? He told me that he felt sick."

"He said he talked to someone... obviously, this guy. Back up the video."

"Done."

"Okay, freeze it right there," Gibbs ordered. "What would you call that expression?"

Abby zoomed in on Tim's face.

"He looks confused, doesn't he?"

"Oh, no, Gibbs. That's Tim's weirded out expression."

"What's the difference, Abby?"

"That's the look Tim gets when he thinks that he must be crazy or that the world is crazy. Either way, that's an extreme emotion for him. Whoever this guy is and whatever he said weirded Tim out."

"Okay, can you read his lips when he's speaking?"

"I can try, but you know that I don't do that very well."

Abby set the video in motion again. "He's kind of sputtering... not even forming whole words, I don't think." She watched as Tim was obviously listening to the man in the hall with him and then spoke again. "I think he's telling the guy his name... at least I definitely caught a Tim and a McGee and even a Probie, but I think the other guy cut him off."

"So, does he know the guy or not?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Gibbs." Abby focused again as Tim spoke. "He said..." She backed up and watched again. "Uh... I can't tell. He's still stuttering a little bit." She watched another bit. "Survive what. Then, he asks questions. When. How. He says... I think he's saying that he doesn't understand. Then, he asks when again." She jumped as the static took over the screen.

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"Doppelgangers?"

"For lack of a better term. We all have to save our team, Tim. Every one of us. Otherwise the network will be broken. You have seen what that means."

Tim looked around the semi-circle at the different McGees. He noticed a gap between a McGee who was missing an arm and Mac. "Why–?" he asked, pointing to the space.

"Sometimes, the individual end isn't happy," right-hand McGee said. "Geek, that was his nickname, saved his team, but was killed in the process by an explosion."

"Then, how...?" Tim looked at Mac.

He pointed at right-hand McGee and said, "Timothy passed it on to me."

"You're the beginning?" Tim asked.

"As far as we're concerned, yes," Timothy answered. "Another part of Stoicism is the problem of finding the primary cause. Am I really the beginning or is it just that I'm the next hub of a network of causes?"

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Still zoomed in on Tim's face as she was, when the video resumed, she was treated to a closeup of his expression. Immediately, she froze it.

"Gibbs, _what_ happened?" She pointed to the image.

Gibbs leaned over her shoulder and looked. "I really don't know, Abbs." Gibbs had thought that Tim looked shocked when he had come upon him in the hall, but this, immediately following whatever had happened in that static, was _not_ shock. Tim's face was lined with fear and horror, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes bugging out of his head. There was a livid red mark on the temple facing the camera. "That mark wasn't there when I reached him."

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"How long?" Tim asked, his voice soft as he scrutinized each member of the chain.

"As long as it takes. I took a year. Mac took three days; Geek, two months. Mac was uncommonly quick to absorb and deal with it all, but then, he's had to face quite a bit that most of us never have."

"Like what?" Tim looked at Mac.

"It's a different world, Tim. It means nothing to you. Focus on your own problems. You have plenty," Mac growled.

"How will I know?"

"You will. That's all I can say," Timothy apologized. "You will have to learn to live with the infinite possibilities for as long as it takes." He took a step toward the bed and pointed to Tim's palms, no longer bleeding, but marked. "This is not a good way to deal with it."

Tim looked down. "I know. I don't know if I can do this."

The one-armed McGee approached the bed. "You can_not_ think like that, Tim. You have the same abilities that we all have. No one has failed yet. Not even Geek. He was terrified the whole time I spoke to him. He died, but... _he didn't fail_. We don't fail. If the chain is broken, too many things can be destroyed. I did _not_ give my right arm to save everyone in my world and in the other worlds just to have you think you're not going to make it," he shouted in Tim's face. "You figure it out and you do it!"

Timothy pulled him back. "Calm down, Timmy. This isn't helping." He looked at Tim sternly, like a teacher imparting an important lesson. "Saving your team, whatever its composition, takes precedence over everything else, Tim. You have access to us all in this way because, in a way, we're all the same person, just on different planes. No one else can because you are the McGee that belongs here. We'll be here, and you'll see what is at stake. Every night, you'll see it... until you truly understand."

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They watched as the mark spread for five seconds along Tim's face, strangely similar to when he got in poison ivy, and then, two seconds later completely disappeared.

"What was that?"

"I have no idea, Abby." Gibbs stared at video as his past self walked over and confronted Tim. "Are you sure McGee was really sick? That he wasn't just pretending?"

"Only if he can make himself throw up on command. He was definitely sick."

Gibbs nodded once and left. Abby turned back to the video and backed it up to just after the burst of static. She had never seen that expression on Tim's face before. Whatever he had just seen or was seeing at that moment must have been absolutely terrible.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The McGees all disappeared. Several had not spoken at all, but they were there. Tim thought that he might just be going completely crazy, but in the off chance that he wasn't, that this was really true, he didn't feel that he could tell anyone about it. The last thing he could deal with was psychoanalysis and a straightjacket. Nightmares... futures... infinite possibilities for him to screw up. He couldn't be the one to break the chain. Regardless of what it took, even if he... like Geek, had to die for it, he wouldn't fail.

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"McGee! Gibbs wants to see you in the lab," Tony said. He noticed that Tim blanched at the sight of his bandaged arm. "Oh, come _on_, Probie. I know you've seen a whole lot more than a simple graze. It's only a flesh wound." He waited.

Tim recognized the quote, but after seeing Tony blown to bits in another world the night before, it was hard to muster the smile and the following line. However, if he didn't, Tony would definitely know that something was wrong. "Flesh wound?! Your arm's off!"

He forced a laugh with Tony and then, headed to the elevator.

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"So, McGee, I have something I need you to look at."

"What, Boss?"

"Something we caught on surveillance. I want you to tell me what's going on."

Tim nodded in confusion. "Okay, Boss."

"Abby..." Gibbs said.

Tim watched as Mac walked into the hallway. He had completely forgotten the security camera there, but obviously, Mac had not.

"So... what's going on there, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim swallowed and tensed as another barrage of futures assaulted his brain. The fact that he couldn't tell anyone what was going on hadn't changed.

"It looks like about what I told you before, Boss. I talked to the guy and..." Tim trailed off as the static washed over the screen. He was relieved. It would have been really hard to explain the fact that Mac had acted like Sylar on _Heroes_ and stabbed his fingers into Tim's brain... at least that was how it had felt.

"What happened in between... while the picture is out?"

"I'm not sure, Boss. I think he left." Tim covered the lie in a half-truth. He really didn't have a clue as to what had happened after the visions had begun. Mac was gone when he next reconnected with the real world... if he had at all.

"Then, where did that come from?" Gibbs asked, jabbing his finger at the red blotch on Tim's face. He was obviously getting very frustrated with Tim's non-answers.

"I... have no idea, Boss." That was true. He didn't know there had been any physical evidence of the transfer. He watched in something akin to awe as it disappeared. "Huh."

"You didn't know about that?"

"No. Definitely not."

Gibbs could tell that this time Tim was actually telling the truth. "One more question, please, McGee."

"Okay, Boss."

"How would you describe the expression on your face right now?" Gibbs nodded at Abby who froze the video.

Tim looked and thought, _It looks like the way I felt this morning when I woke up screaming because I saw everyone dying while I watched. Actually, I think I saw that same scene yesterday as well. There were so many deaths in that one moment..._ but what he said was, "I look like I got scared by something, Boss."

"And you don't know what that was?"

"No, Boss. I don't remember." Tim forced himself to look right into Gibbs' eyes and not flinch at the stare that seemed to be picking apart his brain. "I'm sorry I can't explain it better, Boss." That was sincere. Tim really wished that he dared. "Anything else?"

"Are you feeling all right?"

That question took Tim by surprise. Gibbs seemed to be truly concerned. "Much better than yesterday."

"Okay, McGee."

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Over the next few weeks, Tim changed dramatically. He stopped speaking much. He didn't respond to teasing, and he seemed driven to become perfect at every aspect of his job. All of his off time was spent honing his skills. Tony and Ziva had caught him in the gym, in the shooting range, anywhere that he might be weak. It was really strange because he didn't seem to be enjoying himself at all, but he didn't seem to care about that either. Perhaps only Ducky noticed the continued presence of bandages on his palms, but Tim didn't say anything about it, and Ducky couldn't get him to talk about it either. He also seemed to have a newfound ability to discover the evidence at a crime scene that would break the case. It was more than finding the clue. It was more like he was zeroing in on something he had simply misplaced temporarily. This new skill gave him no pleasure either, but it certainly was cutting down on the time spent at the crime scenes. There was less joking going on in the bullpen when he was there because Tim seemed to carry this black repressive aura around with him. No amount of cajoling, grilling or interrogation could make him explain what was going on in his head, but they were all concerned. Lately, Tim would arrive at NCIS looking like he was on the verge of bursting into tears or spontaneously combusting. He never did either, but he was continually on edge.

What gave the biggest shock, though, was when he approached Ziva and begged her to give him more knife-throwing lessons.

"What?" Ziva looked up from her desk.

"Please, Ziva? Could you teach me how to throw a knife?"

"I tried. Remember?"

"Would you be willing to try again? Please?"

There was a definite note of desperation in Tim's voice that made her pause. "Okay, McGee. But I do have to finish this report first."

"I'll wait." Tim turned and headed to the garage where they had practiced before.

"What is up with him?" Tony asked.

"I don't know, Tony, but it is frightening." Ziva looked in the direction Tim had taken. "Did you know that he started sitting in on classes with the bomb squad?"

"What?!"

"Yeah. He's not doing the actual diffusing, but he apparently told the instructor that he needed more familiarity with explosives."

"So, Probie is trying to turn himself into Rambo, huh?"

"I don't think so, but Abby says that he hasn't worked on his book in a month."

"Really?"

"Apparently, he said that it wasn't important."

"Okay, someone has replaced Probie with an evil twin. That is not normal."

"I guess." Ziva printed her report. "I shouldn't keep him waiting. In his current state he might just have a nervous breakdown."

"Have fun," Tony said, dubiously.

"Right."

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Ziva opened the door to the garage just in time to see a knife fly from Tim's hand and clatter to the floor. She covered her chuckle by clearing her throat. Tim jumped and turned around.

"I, uh, just thought I'd try to... warm up." Tim looked at the knife currently laying on the ground less than halfway to the target and then looked back at Ziva with a wan smile. "I think I'm still hovering around absolute zero."

Ziva stared at Tim, taking in his new mannerisms, the way he seemed to continually be expecting something bad to happen. She had often lamented, privately and publicly, about Tim's lack of combat skills, but she wasn't sure that she liked this change.

"Why do you want me to teach you, McGee?" she asked.

"Like you said... knives don't run out of bullets," Tim said. Ziva continued to stare at him. "Some day, our lives may depend on my ability to throw a knife well." He pointed at the knife on the floor. "If it was today, we'd all be dead."

"Okay," Ziva said quietly. No, she did _not_ like this new Tim. She doubted that he had been this tense when he was an actual Probie. "Your problem is when you release," she said briskly, putting aside her concern for the moment. "You are letting go of the blade when the angle is toward the floor, not the target. It's a matter of feeling the balance and making the correct trajectory." She demonstrated. "Now, you try again."

Tim did so. The knife went a little further than the first one, but still it was very off.

"Well, that was... marginally better."

"You don't have to try and make me feel better, Ziva. I know I suck."

"You don't, McGee. You just need to practice. Try it again."

The next hour was filled with flying knives. Once, Tim actually managed to hit the target. Granted, it was with the hilt, not the blade, but it was still progress. Gibbs came and made Ziva fix some errors in her report which took her another hour. When she came back, Tim was still practicing. She stood in the doorway watching his efforts. Over and over again, he threw the knife, watched it fly, walked over to it, picked it up, backed up and threw again. Then, suddenly, he threw it and the blade buried itself in the center of the target.

"Woohoo!" The small exclamation of triumph made Ziva smiled. That sounded more like Tim.

"Well done, McGee."

He jumped and turned. "I did it, Ziva!"

"I can see that. Good job. Can you do it twice?" She held out her own knife.

"I don't know." Tim took it with trepidation, afraid that since he now knew he had an audience he'd choke.

"Try it."

"Right." Tim focused on the target and willed himself to feel exactly when the perfect time to release the knife was going to be. Then, he let it fly. He didn't hit the bull's-eye, but still, the blade hit the target. "Twice!"

"Good job, McGee! I think you can take a break now."

Tim sobered and shook his head. "There will be time for a break... later. Right now, there's too much to do. Thanks for your help, Ziva." He gave her an unhappy smile and left the garage.

"But _what_ are you doing?" Ziva said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

As had become usual, a McGee turned up as soon as Tim got into his apartment. Sometimes, they just stayed around for awhile, as if making sure he was still alive. Sometimes, such as if Timmy, the one-armed McGee, was there, they harangued him and threatened him. There was one McGee that would show up the most often, but never say a word. He just watched Tim and smiled at him encouragingly. Once or twice, he had even waved before vanishing. Tim supposed that he should be annoyed by the scrutiny, but that little wave always made him feel better. Tonight, Timothy was there.

"How are you doing, Tim?" he asked.

Tim walked by him into his bedroom and sank down on the bed, clasping his hands tightly together. "I threw a knife today. I even hit the target twice in a row."

"That's good. That's really good, Tim. You're getting better; you're preparing yourself. What's that?" he asked, pointing to the bandage poking out of Tim's clasped hands.

"Nothing."

"Tim..." Timothy looked concerned.

Tears filled Tim's eyes. "Last night... I saw... I watched as everyone on the team died... over and over again. It's worse knowing that this _isn't_ just a recurring nightmare. It's a reality. I..." He looked up at Timothy. "I don't know if I can take it. How did you manage for a whole year?"

"I don't know. I just did." When Tim sighed and looked down, he took another step toward him. "Hey, that doesn't make me any better or worse than you. Every one of us has had different experiences in our lives. Even though at our core, we're all the same person, we're differentiated by the experiences in our respective planes of existence."

"Why is it that every time you speak, I expect you to sound British?" Tim asked, forcing out a laugh that he didn't feel.

"I was never part of NCIS, Tim. That's probably why."

"What?"

"I never joined NCIS. I went to MIT and Johns Hopkins just like you, but I became an academic."

"Then... how–?"

"You don't need to know the details of our lives, Tim. You only need to solve the problems in your own. However, I will say that you remind me a lot of Mac."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that you two have some important similarities."

Tim looked around to make sure Timmy wasn't showing up. "I really don't know if I can hold it together long enough to do _anything_. I'm taking everyone's advice... my own advice. I've been getting in better shape, practicing at the range, even learning the basics of bomb diffusing, but I don't understand _how_ I'm supposed to know when that moment is that _I_ have to save my _entire team_!" Tim stood up and faced Timothy, inches from him. "And I am so afraid that I am going to have to watch them get torn apart in _this_ plane! _How_ do I bear this?!"

Timothy was gone. Tim let out a helpless chuckle and fell onto his bed, wrapping his arms around his chest, trying to hold in the hysterical sobs that were building up inside him. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

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"_Run! Run! Get out of there!" McGee yelled, rushing toward the house. Tony and Ziva were inside gathering evidence. The bomb threat had just been called in._

"_What was that, Probie?"_

"_Get out! Now! There's a bomb!"_

_Tony and Ziva appeared at the door just as an explosion ripped through the house, propelling the two hapless agents out onto the lawn, their clothes burning, their skin on fire. McGee himself was thrown backward onto the ground. He got up, ignoring the searing pain and limped over to Tony and Ziva. Dead. Both of them._

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"No more! No more, Timothy, please!" Tim shrieked in despair as he dragged himself out of the memory. He curled into a fetal position, crying and rocking, his arms still wrapped around his torso.

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Tony was in the midst of picking the lock when he heard Tim shout, speaking to someone.

"Probie?"

The shouting continued unabated and Tony increased his efforts, worrying that something was actually happening to Tim. His intention in coming was just to be sure that Tim wasn't secretly cracking under some invisible strain, but this sounded really bad. He finally got the door open and followed the sound of sobbing to Tim's bedroom.

"Probie! Who were you talking to just now?"

Tim opened one eye. "Tony?" Then, he closed the eye again and began to laugh. "I was just..." he hesitated for a split second. "...talking to myself. That's all. Talking to myself." He laughed again.

"Hey, now, McGee. Sit up. What's going on with you?"

Tim allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position and he put his hands on the bed to steady himself, palms facing downward.

"McGee..." Tony trailed off and then grabbed at Tim's shirt. "...where did this come from?"

Tim followed his gaze to the bloody marks left from the reopened gouges in his palms. "It's nothing, Tony." He lifted one of his hands to pull the fabric from Tony's hands, and winced at the bloody mark he had left on his sheets. Tony noticed and looked down. He grabbed Tim's hand and turned it over.

"McGee. This is _not_ nothing," he said, pulling off the blood-soaked bandage. He saw the four small lacerations and understood at least _where_ the injuries had come from, even if he didn't understand the _why_. "Nothing doesn't involve this."

Tim pulled his hand back and said, "It's just..." he stopped and involuntarily clenched his fists again as the visions hit him again. "I'm just a little tense."

"A _little_? A little tense is your normal level of existence, Probie. This is psychotic breakdown tense."

"No! It's not!" Tim stopped and analyzed the futures he saw and focused in on one. "I've..." he hesitated and watched his chosen future again. "I've been having these... nightmares lately."

"Nightmares? Bad dreams are causing your self-mutilation?"

"Please, don't call it that, Tony," Tim whispered, closing his eyes.

"Sorry, McGee. What's in these nightmares?"

"You guys. Dying."

Tony sat back. "I take it this is not an instance of us dying peacefully in our sleep," he said, trying to make a joke. It was hard because Tim looked so disconsolate.

"No." Tim was looking at his bloody palms. "No. I see you all dying in different ways every night. Sometimes, it's my fault because I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes, because I wasn't there. Other times, it's just that I couldn't get to you fast enough or I didn't put it together fast enough. I tried. Every time, I _tried_, but I never quite make it." Tim seemed to be holding back the tears by sheer force of will because Tony could see them glistening in his eyes. "And I know that it is...it could so easily happen. One moment and everyone is dead. The last dream, you and Ziva were killed when a house blew up. I watched as you were burned alive." A tear escaped Tim's control. "I was running toward the house, screaming for you to get out, but I was too late. Not fast enough."

"Every night?" Tony asked.

"Every night."

"Since when?"

"Over a month ago... it started." Tim wouldn't look up. He was afraid of letting the rest of it slip out. He had come close. Too close. Tony wasn't stupid and he might put it together although he'd mark Tim as crazy not as... cursed with the future.

"Well, McGee, we're not going to die... at least not anytime soon, and you don't have to think that you are bound to save us all from certain death."

Tim felt, if anything, worse than he had before. Tony was trying to make him feel better, but the plain fact of the matter was that there _would_ be a moment in which they could all die... and that it _would_ be up to him to keep them from dying. Tony's meaningless comfort served only to make Tim feel more alone.

"Thanks for coming over, Tony. I think I just need more sleep." Again, true but so deceiving.

"Not with your hands like that, Probie." Tony stood up and walked to the bathroom. "You being you, I'm sure you have a first aid kit in here somewhere. Where is it?"

"Tony!" Tim stood up. "You don't have to... I don't need..."

"I know, and I know. This may be the only time you have someone slaving around for you, McGee; enjoy it. Now, do you want me to go through every drawer and cupboard in here or are you going to tell me?"

Tim sighed and sat back down. "Under the sink."

"Ah, I see it. You know, McGee, you're running a little low on these bandages."

"Yeah, I know." Tim looked up as Tony came back into the bedroom. "I've been meaning to buy some more."

"There's another solution."

"What? Trim my nails?"

Tony would be the first to admit that he didn't get all sappy about things, but to hear Tim try and make a joke when he so obviously just wanted to cry was incredibly depressing.

"Well, that's one option. I was thinking more along the lines of stop clenching your fists so tight."

"I'll work on that." Tim lapsed into silence as Tony finished rebandaging his hands. It was a little embarrassing, but he couldn't deny that it made for a much neater job than he could have done himself.

"Well, McGee, I can't promise that I won't die eventually, but I promise I'm not going to die tonight," Tony said lightly.

Tim's fists momentarily clenched, and this time, Tony caught the blank look that Gibbs and Ducky had seen. It was gone so quickly that he figured he must have imagined it. Besides, Tim's next words put it out of his mind.

"I know you won't." The sentence wasn't one of making a joke. It was said so firmly that Tony himself had no doubts that he'd make it. _It's almost like Tim can see the future_, he thought and then laughed at himself. How silly.

"See you tomorrow, Probie."

"'Night, Tony." Tim watched as he left and then flopped back onto the bed. He could feel the infinite futures crowding around in his subconscious, waiting. He was beginning to understand what they were now. Some were possibilities for this plane, but others were the deaths on the other planes that would come if he failed. That made him feel no better, but somehow, just the little piece of understanding helped ground him... just a little bit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_The bullets were flying at them like hail, ricocheting off the metal shelves, burying themselves in the crates behind which the team had hidden themselves. There were just too many of them. Too many people firing, too many bullets. The radios, the phones had been blocked. This was to be a fight to the death... to _their_ deaths. These men they had come to arrest were ready to go down if necessary but had taken every precaution to make sure that it was the NCIS team that went down instead._

Tim opened his eyes and looked down at his clenched fists. He forced himself to relax. That vision had been somehow different. For one thing, it was the only one he'd that night, repeated over and over again, but always that one. That was different.

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If Tony had expected an immediate return to the "normal" Tim, he was sorely disappointed. He was a little less brittle when he came to work the next day, but the sense of focus and determination was, if anything, stronger than it had been. Gibbs had noted Tim's apparently impending breakdown and had tried a few different things to get him to snap out of it, whatever _it_ was, but none had worked. By far, the worst attempt had been when Gibbs had tried to leave Tim at headquarters. If anything, he had been much worse. It was like he needed to be the team's protector, which was laughable because, well... this was _Tim_, not Ziva or Gibbs or Tony. Tim was _not_ the ideal protector. Nothing anyone could do seemed to change Tim's obsession. As the days passed, Tim continued to spend his time at the shooting range and in the garage practicing his knife-throwing. He had stopped attending classes with the bomb squad and was spending less time in the gym. His focus now seemed to be on guns and knives. No one could figure out why. Abby, after realizing that not even her special method of persuasion could get Tim to open up, turned her attention onto the twenty seconds of static on the video. She had the feeling that something had happened in those twenty seconds which could explain exactly why Tim had changed.

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"It's going to happen tomorrow," Tim sighed as he came into his apartment. To his relief, Mac was his visitor. Timmy had been there the night before and had essentially devolved into little attacks on Tim's obvious distress. "You were right. I just know."

"I told you," Mac said. He disappeared.

Tim sighed again. That scene had taken over his every moment of spare time. The team trapped behind shelves and crates as death circled ever closer to them like a vulture waiting for carrion. He couldn't get it out of his mind. It always came to a moment when everyone was running low on ammunition, and the bullets were still flying. He had gone over and over it, trying to find some way to avoid getting to that point. In every future, they ended up in the warehouse. _Why is it _always_ in a warehouse?_ he wondered. Suggestions for backup failed. One particularly desperate future had ended with an attack on NCIS headquarters itself and a very high body count. Attempts to prevent their radios from going out didn't work. They wouldn't have time to look for anything or anyone once they stepped inside. Occasionally, he had been the first to die and that didn't work either... at least, he didn't think it worked. Since he was dead, the vision stopped.

"You're as ready as you can be," Mac said from behind him.

Tim jumped and turned around. He seemed... more _real_ than he had before. The visitors always looked very solid, but they weren't. Mac was.

"Are you–?"

He shrugged. "I figured you might like to have a real visitor rather than the ghostly apparitions."

"Thanks." Tim sat down at his computer and watched as Mac wandered over to the now-dusty typewriter.

"What's this for?"

"I write novels... when I'm not trying to save the multi-verse," Tim said, looking longingly at it. "I haven't written anything for awhile. There's just been too much to worry about. I can't even remember how long it's been. It feels like this is all there is, all there ever was."

Mac pulled the chair from the typewriter and straddled it. The look on his harshly-lined face was sympathetic. "I do understand, you know."

"How? You only had to do this for three days. It's been weeks."

"Not because of this, but because of what happened to me before."

"What?"

"It's not important."

Tim leaned forward. "Yes, Mac. It _is_. Maybe it's not important for me to succeed tomorrow. Maybe I don't _need_ to know, but it _is_ important because I need to understand it. I need more than little pieces. I've been living on visions of infinite realities, and that's just not enough. I need to understand the differences that come up in the other realities, the other planes. Please, Mac?"

Mac sighed, and for the first time, Tim really could see that Mac was a McGee. "Okay, Tim. My family was killed by a terrorist attack when I was in high school. I joined the military with the intention of getting revenge. I became a Marine. I had been slated to go to MIT and do the whole computer geek road like most of us did but I pushed all that to the side when my family died. I was in Afghanistan for awhile and, as anybody might have guessed, I burned out... and this being me, I burned out like a Molotov cocktail. I nearly killed myself and my entire unit."

Tim stared at himself in shock. He simply could not see himself as a Marine... as another Gibbs. And yet, here he was sitting across from himself, a self that _was_ a Marine.

"They shipped me back stateside, gave me an honorable discharge and everything. I was completely lost. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. That's when I met Gibbs, on the Marines' birthday. I still, to this day, don't know what it was he saw in me at the time. I was... I was without purpose or direction. I was just empty, no family, no friends, no prospects. When he suggested that I train to join up with NCIS and be on his team, I was surprised, but I figured that I might as well. I went to FLETC, passed with flying colors, and joined the team."

"What's your area of expertise?" Tim asked.

"Computers, of course."

"But... I thought..."

"I took a bunch of classes, worked with Abby. She and I are about on par with each other now. The one that I had a hard time dealing with was Tony." A sad smile flashed across his lips. "He was so... undisciplined, and to me, so unequipped to deal with the dangers we faced, but as I suffered through his training, I saw that he had some innate talents that made him valuable. He never pulled the _probie_ thing with me. I think I scared him a little, and sometimes, he just seemed so... _stupid_.. Unfortunately, I was right. I don't know what he was thinking, why he thought he needed to be out on that rooftop. One little step to the right and he was dead. He wasn't trying to do anything; he just died. Kate was in shock when she got up there."

"Wait... _Tony_ died? Not Kate?"

"Kate's dead here?" Mac asked, in horror.

"Yeah. Ari killed her."

"Oh."

"What about Ziva?"

"She took Tony's place. It was really hard for me to accept her. Kate had to keep telling me that it wasn't her fault. It was hard for Kate to be over me when Gibbs left. No one wants to have to order their spouse around."

"You... and _Kate_?"

"Shocked, Tim?"

"Yeah."

"So was everyone else. Gibbs was furious that we had flaunted Rule 12 so easily. That made my whole dilemma a little more difficult, when Timothy transferred to me. It's hard to hide nightmares from your wife. Luckily, the moment came so quickly, that she didn't have time to even wonder."

"Did you tell her?"

"No. No one knows. It's just me."

"Timothy said that you and I are a lot alike, but I don't see it. Our lives took hugely different paths."

Mac looked thoughtful. "I suppose that it's because you accepted it so easily. Timothy was surprised when I just believed him. I'm a Marine, down-to-earth. I'm not _supposed_ to believe in all this mumbo-jumbo... but I did. I've seen enough in my life that little surprises me now. You were the same way. I _was_ surprised by that. You knew instantly what I was, even if you didn't _want_ to believe it. You didn't question that what I said was true. I guess Timothy's right. We are all the same person at the core. I'll admit that I questioned whether or not you could do it at first, Tim. But I think you can. I _know_ you can. I may not have handled it very well when I passed off the burden. I know that you've seen things you never thought you'd have to see, and you won't forget them either. I'm sorry for that, because you've changed more than I wish you'd had to."

Tim took a deep breath.

"You can do it, Tim. Just wait. You won't see the choices until that moment, but you _will_ see them. You'll see that perfect course that's waiting for you." Mac looked down at his watch. "I'd better go. Kate will be getting out of the shower soon. I can only leave for so long and then, she starts to wonder." A soft smile lit up his face, completely altering his countenance.

"Mac?" Tim stood as Mac pushed the chair back to the typewriter.

"What?"

"Thank you."

"Do your job and survive it. Then, finish writing your book. That will be thanks enough, Tim. Good luck, tomorrow." He held out his hand. Tim clasped it and felt a small shock. "We don't engage in much physical contact because there is a bit of uncertainty about the levels of existence... or some other such nonsense. Timothy can explain all that, but you should get some sleep now." Mac nodded and disappeared, leaving Tim alone again.

"Me, as a Marine. Weird." Tim shook his head and looked toward his bedroom. He knew what he'd be seeing tonight. He'd seen it so many times, and he'd made so many plans that he knew what was coming up to the moment of decision. As Mac said, that wouldn't reveal itself until the moment was actually there. Tim looked at his hands. The marks were still there, but he'd been trying to clench them a little less tightly. He'd also made the effort to keep his nails below the ends of his fingers. It didn't always work, but it helped. Tim took a deep breath and steeled himself for another night of horrors. One more night. Either way, only one more night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Tim walked into NCIS the next morning, everyone noticed the difference in his attitude, his _aura_. The dark cloud was gone, replaced by a feeling of inevitability, of resignation. It wasn't necessarily an improvement, but it was at least different. For his part, Tim was terrified. He'd been fine-tuning his plans since he woke up that morning, but he knew that he just had to go and not let on that he knew any more than anyone else did about what was coming.

"Morning, McGee. I think we'll break this case today. I feel it in my bones," Tony said in eager anticipation.

"I think you're right, Tony. Has Abby got her results yet?" Tim asked, knowing that she hadn't but that she would in an hour or two.

"Not yet. Not even the Gibbs stare can make the equipment run any faster."

Tim chuckled. "I'll go and see how she's doing." After depositing his bag at his desk, he headed for the elevator down to the lab. He noticed the looks Ziva and Tony exchanged, but he ignored them. What was the point in acknowledging the fact that they knew something was wrong?

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"Hey, Abby, any results yet?"

"For the last time, I will _tell_ you guys when my babies have finished their work. Until then, leave me alone!"

Tim stopped in surprise. "Whoa. I'm sorry, Abbs. I didn't realize you'd had this question already."

Abby swung around to face him; she didn't look particularly happy. "McGee, this is the search that will tell you brave men and woman where you're headed next. Gibbs has been down here; Ziva has been down here; Tony called once; now, you're here."

"Sorry," he said again.

Abby smiled at him. "Oh, Tim. I can't stay mad at you when you have that pitiful look on your face."

"Should I be happy about that?" Tim asked, keeping with the usual banter.

"Depends on whether or not you want to keep living."

"I guess I'm happy."

"I don't really think you are," Abby said seriously. "What happened to you?"

Tim feigned incomprehension. "When?"

"Here." Abby turned and brought up the static-filled screen. "What happened when the video went out?"

"I don't know, Abby."

"I think you're lying, but I can't for the life of me figure out why."

Tim started to speak, but Abby cut him off.

"In any case, I think I might just have figured out how to fix it."

"Really?"

"Yep. After I finish these tests, I'll have some free time and I can really look at it, but I'm pretty sure I can do it."

"I'll be... interested in seeing it." In a way it was true. Tim had no idea exactly what Mac had done to him beyond the feeling of something stabbing into his brain. It would be interesting... and horrifying to see exactly what had been done.

"You don't sound interested, Tim."

Tim shrugged. He stiffened momentarily and thought about the futures he'd just seen. There was something he had to do... in case the worst happened. "I have to finish my report. Tell me if you get through the static."

"You bet I will." Abby said it like it was a threat. In a way, it was.

Tim looked at her for a long moment. If the worst did happen, this would be the last time he ever saw her. Before he had a chance to really analyze the impulse, he leaned forward and pulled Abby into a hug. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was really hard, the whole situation. Knowing that he could die today, knowing that he could let his team die, knowing that they could all die, knowing that if he failed other teams in other planes could also die. It was just too much to know.

"Tim, I'm not one to complain about getting a hug from you, but are you okay?" Abby's voice was right in his ear.

"I'm okay, Abby. I just needed a hug."

"Well, anytime you want one."

"I'll remember that." Tim let her go and walked to the elevator, leaving Abby with the strangest feeling that she'd just said good-bye to Tim... permanently.

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For about an hour, Tim stared at his computer screen, the word processor page empty. He had started and erased about five different letters, explaining what had happened, but none of them had seemed right. He looked at the time display and felt his body tense. Not much longer. Gibbs should be getting the results soon. As soon as they had them, he'd get a rush on the warrant and they'd head out. What to say?

_Hey, guys... or else other NCIS people..._

No. That wasn't right, but neither was _To Whom It May Concern_. Maybe he should just skip the address and get on with the message.

_This will be either my epitaph or my suicide note because if today goes as badly as I fear it could, I will be dead. I have no intention of living with the knowledge that I got my team killed. _

Tim paused and looked thoughtfully at Ziva and Tony, both of whom were working on something themselves.

_If I'm still alive, then, no one should be reading this. I knew what was going to happen today before it happened. I'm writing this about an hour before we will be leaving to, as the rest of the team thinks, arrest Louis Allen Wadsworth. However, what is going to happen is a firefight. His gang is ready and waiting for us. I've seen a million different futures, and in none of them can I convince anyone that I know what I'm talking about. It doesn't really matter anyway. This is something that absolutely must be resolved for good or ill by me. Why? Because of causality between worlds. Yes, I know this makes me sound crazy. Maybe I am, but if so, how can you explain the video Abby will no doubt discover? I am the one who can save us. It might come at the cost of my life... if it does, that's okay. What is not okay is the possibility of failure. I don't know what I'm going to do to fix this. I don't know how to stop it from happening. I just have to go and wait for another set of futures to reveal themselves. When that happens..._

"Abby's got the results, Boss," Tony said, pulling Tim from his typing. "I just called in the warrant. It should be granted within twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?"

"Yes. I told them to rush it, but they said they _were_."

_When that happens, I will have to make a decision. I really hope that I don't die, but that's a silly statement because no one will be reading this unless I'm dead anyway. I hope that I haven't failed._

"Ready, McGee?" Gibbs asked, looming over the desk.

"Yes, Boss." Tim looked once more at what he'd written. It would have to do. Time was up. He saved the document to his desktop, grabbed his gear and followed the team to the elevator.

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As they got into the car, Tim and Tony in the backseat, Gibbs and Ziva in front, Tony paused.

"McGee?"

"What, Tony? You want left pistol?" he asked.

Tony almost winced because Tim was still trying to joke and yet he looked absolutely terrified. "No, Probie. You can have that honor."

"Then, what?"

Tony met Tim's gaze across the roof of the car. "Don't think that you have to save us, McGee."

Tim hesitated for a moment, and Tony saw that strange blankness take over his expression. Then, he smiled sadly. "I don't think that, Tony." He slid into the car, but Tony thought he heard a whisper, _I know it._

As they drove in relative silence, Tony looked sideways at Tim. His eyes were tightly closed and his fists were clenched. He heard some low muttering.

"Red light. Five, four, three, two, one... left turn... right, green light. Yellow light... acceleration..."

Tony watched in dawning comprehension as Tim listed each move they made on their way to arrest Wadsworth. It was rather creepy because he never opened his eyes and they'd never been there before. In spite of the evidence of his own eyes and ears, he couldn't bring himself to believe what he was seeing.

As they pulled into the abandoned lot, Tony looked over at Tim whose eyes were still closed. "Wake up, Probie. We're here."

"I know," Tim said, his voice tinged with... what? Resignation?

They went to the house first, but no one was there. Gibbs directed them to the warehouse at the back of the lot. They went by the book, shouting "NCIS!" before walking inside. There was no response and Gibbs took point, followed by Ziva and Tim. Tony came in last, watching the exit. It was semi-dark inside, the windows covered with grime, the space cluttered with old shelves and old crates.

"Louis Allen Wadsworth! NCIS!" Gibbs shouted again.

"There's no one here, Boss," Tony said, but he looked over at Tim... who was staring across the room.

"Get down!" he shouted suddenly and lunged at Tony, knocking him to the ground. A split second later, the bullets started flying, so thickly that it was hard to even look around the crates and shelves to get a sight on their attackers. Ziva and Gibbs split and dove behind a crate and a cluttered set of shelves.

"Who's out there?" Ziva shouted over the melee.

"Wadsworth and friends! It must be!" Tony shouted back from his spot behind a stack of crates. "That was a good save, Probie. Thanks!"

Tim didn't seem to be paying any attention to him. His face had gone blank again and he was almost trembling with tension.

"Probie!" he shouted.

"The radios are out!" Ziva shouted as she returned fire again.

"Cells aren't working either!" Gibbs added.

Tony looked over at Tim once more. He wasn't sure why he was so worried about him, but he couldn't get Tim's description of his nightmares out of his head. Why hadn't he said something about this sooner? Why hadn't he mentioned Tim's hero complex to Gibbs before this moment? ...because now was really not the time.

"McGee!" Tony shouted again and was horrified to see life flood back into his eyes, filling them with something less like determination and more like self-sacrifice. "No! McGee! Don't!" He didn't even know what he was telling him not to do, but he could see in Tim's eyes and in his stance that he was about to do _something_. He was steeling himself.

"I only have one clip left!" Ziva reported, oblivious to Tony's fear.

"How many knives?" Gibbs said grimly.

"Well, if I had a target to throw them at, I would be able to take out... three."

"Give me one!" he ordered.

"Stay where you are! Don't!" Tony shouted so loudly that it cut through the hail of gunfire and turned Ziva and Gibbs from deciding how to get at the shadowy figures firing on them to the two men. They turned just in time to see Tim launch himself from his shelter toward one area of the warehouse.

"McGee!"

"Stop!"

Too late.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Okay, Agent McGee. I'm done with your stonewalling," Abby muttered to herself as she focused her full attention on deciphering the static. It wasn't that the video had been ruined. It was digital, not magnetic. It was as if someone had placed a layer of white noise over the video itself. There was no evidence of tampering in security; so Abby was stumped as to how it had happened. She shrugged and put that aside for the moment. The video itself was more important than how it had been messed with. She began to run it through the processors and the programs designed to fix these things.

After an hour, she ran the video again. The static was still there, but it was much more diffuse. Abby stared in shock. "No, this has got to be wrong. This is so far beyond hinky that it's unreal," she said to herself. What she saw explained at least the weird out expression on Tim's face before and the red splotch... but she didn't know what it meant. "What happened?"

She backed up the video and ran it again. The man stepped toward Tim bringing his hands up on either side of Tim's head, just at the temples. She leaned closer to the monitor because there was a moment when the man's face had been turned toward the camera and she couldn't believe what she saw. Well, she couldn't believe it anyway, but this was hugely weird.

Rewind... watch the twenty seconds... rewind again... watch the twenty seconds. Over and over... as if repeated viewings would make it more believable, more sane. It didn't.

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Tim reeled from the futures he saw. Too many of them ended in everyone's death. Too many more ended in him surviving and the rest dying. He waited and waited for that perfect course Mac had said would come. It seemed to take years, and then, he saw it. He couldn't tell if he lived or died, but he could see that the team survived and _that_ was the important thing. Regular sight returned to his eyes and he noticed Tony staring at him. The roaring was so loud in his ears that he couldn't hear what he said, but he looked worried. Tim couldn't take the time to worry about that. He quickly oriented himself to the locations of the men firing at them. There was the sweet spot, his goal. He had to run for it, a diagonal course across the warehouse. It would draw fire and distract Wadsworth because it was Wadsworth he'd be going for.

He vaguely noticed Tony yelling at him but disregarded it as unimportant. Instead, Tim took a deep breath and ran out into the middle of the warehouse. For just a moment, probably less than ten seconds, the place was silent. It was such a mad thing Tim was doing that even the criminals were surprised enough to stop. Then, the normal course resumed and the bullets came again. Tim took three in the chest before he'd taken a dozen steps. If it weren't for his vest he'd be dead already. That didn't matter. He was winded. He was bruised, but he couldn't stop. He seemed to have completely disconnected himself from the reality that was facing him. He could have sworn that he saw Timothy out of the corner of his eye and randomly wondered why.

His arm was on fire (he'd dropped his gun), his legs were numb. He kept running because he knew that if he didn't, all this would be for naught. He kept going, getting slower, but dimly aware that the number of bullets flying at him was decreasing. The warehouse seemed to have tripled in size. Why was it taking so long to get there?

"Keep going, Tim! Keep going! You're going to make it!" Timothy shouted.

From somewhere deep down, Tim found the strength to leap around the crate and land on the man hiding behind it. However, after that, every scrap of reserve he'd had was gone. He felt Wadsworth shove him to the side and as the blackness swarmed across his vision, he saw him aim his gun. Tim saw another series of futures and found one last source of strength. Blessing rule number nine, he pulled the knife out of the sheath on his back and threw it at the man. His aim was true and it hit him right between the eyes... hilt first. Tim had no chance to take any of this in, unfortunately. His eyes finally made the executive decision to close and Tim felt his body shutting down in protest. Only the fear that he had failed prevented him completely losing consciousness.

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Time had passed... he had no idea how much, but he felt in agony. Pain came from every quarter and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't even move. The most he could do was whimper, which he did.

"McGee!"

The voice seemed familiar... who was that?

"Boss?" he asked... at least his lips moved. Finding the breath to actually give voice to the word was too much.

"Don't try to talk, McGee. The ambulance will be here soon."

"Tony... Ziva..." he mouthed. His eyes opened a little but promptly protested and closed again.

"They're fine. Quiet."

"Where..."

"I am here, McGee."

"Ziva..." Proof. "Tony?"

"He's corralling. Stop talking. We're all fine... all of us, except for you. So shut up."

"Everyone... safe?"

"_Yes_."

He hadn't failed. He had won. "Then... nothing else... matters." He started to drift, forgetting the pain, forgetting the fear.

"McGee, don't you die on me!"

The worry, no, the _command_ in that voice was impossible to ignore. Tim forced his eyes open. He looked past Gibbs. There was Mac.

"See?" Tim said. "I did it..."

"Shhh, Tim. Quiet. They're going to think you're crazy."

"Doesn't... matter... now."

"Yes, it does. Remember? You need to finish your book," Mac said, firmly.

"McGee, look at me."

"Mac..."

"Talk to them, not to me, Tim. Remember, they can't see me."

"...say... hi... to Kate..."

"I will... someday. Now, pay attention to Gibbs. I just wanted to be sure that you made it... so you'd better make it, you hear?" Mac disappeared.

"McGee...don't."

"Boss..." Tim willed his eyes to focus on Gibbs. They began to close again. "Abby..."

"Talk to her later, McGee."

Then, Timothy was there, crouched beside him. "It's not a complete victory unless the _whole_ team survives, Tim. You're part of that team. You need to survive, too."

"But... it hurts."

"I know it hurts, McGee," Gibbs said, unaware of Timothy's presence. "Just stay with me, alright?"

"Yes, but that's only temporary, Tim. You need to stick around. You still have another task... you have to pass it on."

"Another... world..."

"Exactly. So, stay with them. They need you, and so do myriads of others."

"Stay..."

"That's right, McGee. Stay," Ziva said; then, she added, "If that ambulance does not arrive soon, I will kill them."

"I hear the sirens."

"Tony..." Tim whispered as Timothy vanished.

"That's right, Probie. You ever pull something like that again... I'll..."

"I... know." Sirens pierced his ears. "Safe?"

"Everyone but you."

"Good." Tim sighed and gave into the blackness which now dominated not only his vision but his mind as well. There was too much of it, and he was too tired to fight it anymore.

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The scene was one which would forever be seared into the minds of the rest of the team. Tim's distraction had been the catalyst which had allowed them to take down the gang. Wadsworth was in custody, two of his men were dead and another two had been arrested. And yet, none of that mattered because the instrument of that success lay in a twisted heap on the floor in the corner of the warehouse. Tim's vest had at least twenty rounds lodged in it. His arms and legs had taken about that many as well, in the form of direct hits and grazes. He had a couple of grazes on his head as well, those that only sheer luck had kept from being fatal. He lay in a spreading pool of blood. None of the injuries by themselves were life-threatening, but taken together and combined with the blood loss and shock, it was a miracle he hadn't died. He had probably come as close as one can without actually crossing the line.

Gibbs had been the first to reach him. There was so much blood that at first he had been afraid that Tim was actually dead. He tore off the vest and threw it aside, checking Tim's pulse, ready to start CPR if necessary. He was a little surprised that Tim was still alive but had pushed that thought aside and begun to bandage the more serious wounds, knowing that he didn't stand a chance of stopping all the bleeding, but hoping that he could stop it just enough to keep Tim from dying.

As they watched the paramedics rush Tim off to the hospital, the team couldn't believe what had just happened. It seemed unreal. Tony bent down and picked up Tim's vest.

"Look at this, Boss," he said, turning it over in his hands. "Look how many rounds there are."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Did he _say_ anything to you before he jumped out?"

"No... but... I..."

"What, Tony?"

Tony kept his eyes on the vest, not wanting to look Gibbs in the eye as he gave voice to the theory only partially formed. "On the way over here, McGee was predicting the path you took, down to the lights, when you'd accelerate. His eyes were closed the entire time."

"What are you trying to say, DiNozzo?"

"It was like... he could see the future."

Gibbs and Ziva didn't say a word.

"I... I think he was trying to save us. I think he saw a future where we died and he was trying to save us from it."

Again, silence greeted his statement. No one said anything, but together, they walked out of the building and waited for the arrival of the other NCIS team, so that they could go and see how Tim was doing.

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Abby looked in complete amazement as she compared the two images on the screen. The man looked just like Tim... he _was_ Tim. This wasn't just a case of similar looks. They were the same person...and yet standing across from each other. Then, with her scientific self rebelling against the science fiction she was seeing, she watched the... the _other_ Tim raise his hands to her Tim's temples. A narrow beam of red light shot from his palms directly into Tim's head. Tim's eyes got wider and more terrified as whatever was happening... happened. Then, the other Tim simply disappeared. He didn't walk away. He didn't move out of view of the camera. He dropped his hands and disappeared.

"This is impossible," she whispered.

Her phone rang. She almost didn't want to answer it, but at the last minute picked it up.

"Gibbs? You're not going to beli..." she trailed off. "What?" The phone dropped from lax fingers as she remembered her feeling from a few hours before that Tim had been saying good-bye to her.

She didn't even bother to hang up the phone as she grabbed her coat and her bag and ran out of the lab.

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Tim felt like he was floating in a black sea. There was nothing there but himself. Not for very long though. Then, there _was_ someone else there... himself.

"Tim, good job. You did it."

"Timothy."

"You're not dead; don't worry."

Then, something that had been subconsciously bothering him from the beginning of this ride clicked into place. "...but you are, aren't you."

"Again, good job." Timothy smiled. "How did you make the connection?"

"I don't know, but it's been bothering me."

"What has?"

"The fact that _you_ were the beginning. Why you? Even with all that Stoicism you were throwing out, you didn't say that there _was_ no primary cause, just that the connections between causes were complicated. You seemed to understand it all when everyone else was just taking it for granted."

"Well, I _am_ an academic. We're geniuses, you know."

"So?"

"So what?"

Tim sighed... or thought he did. This blackness in which he currently resided had no real location; he had no real form. The words were being said, but there was no sound. He could see, but without sight. Essentially, he was living in a sea of contradictions and was surprised that it bothered him so little. "So, what happened with you?"

"My... _team_ if you will, died. I didn't understand what I was supposed to do. There was a shooting at the university. I had been seeing it coming for weeks, but by the time I really understood what it was, what I had been experiencing, it was too late. Gibbs, Tony, Lee, Ducky, they all died."

"They weren't at NCIS, right?"

"No. Gibbs was... on loan. Tony was a coach. Ducky, a professor and Lee one of my grad students. We were just a motley crew who had somehow fit together. A team." Timothy smiled sadly. "After they died, the visions continued. I didn't know how I had them or how to get rid of them, but they changed. Instead of showing me the future, they began to show me aspects of the past and aspects of others' futures. I began to understand. The shooting happened about three months after I first starting seeing the visions. I lived for another nine months after that... in a coma, it turns out, although I didn't realize it at the time." Tim began to interrupt, but Timothy held up his hand to forestall any comment or question. "No, don't ask me how this happened or what happens after death. I don't know. I haven't gone. Somehow, as surely as you knew when to intervene, I knew what I had to do. I had broken a chain I didn't even know existed and I had to fix it. In order to do that, I have to forge a new chain, using parallel selves as the links. While there _are_ infinite universes, this chain is finite. Every step, every self, every success brings me closer to repairing the chain. I don't know all the causes. I don't know where it will end, but I'm sure I'll know somehow when the time comes."

"How do _I_ know? How do I know how to pass it off?"

"You just have to concentrate. You'll make the connection and forge a new link, one that can't be broken. Just as you and Mac will always be connected and able to move back and forth between your worlds, you and the next McGee will also be connected; you'll also be able to physically move there. That's part of the chain."

Tim thought about it for awhile, floating in the black. "I have to go back, then, right?"

"Yes. When Geek died, I felt the weakening of the chain. That part will always be a little less solid than the rest. We need a chain as strong as we can build it, and it was only luck... or maybe the plan of the cosmos that I was able to take the visions and pass them on to Mac."

"How did you do that, though? It felt to me like Mac was stabbing into my brain."

"It doesn't take physical contact. It's the mental connection that matters."

"Everyone is going to think I'm crazy, you know."

"No, they won't. They'll think the _world_ has gone crazy, not you."

"Why?"

"Because we always leave a chance to prove what is going on... even if it's not needed. Mac didn't need it. Neither did Timmy. Geek did. You will, maybe. The video will clear up, and everyone will know in some respect what you were doing. They more than likely won't talk about it much and they won't want to even _think_ about it... but they'll know."

The blackness started to gray. "I'm waking up, I think."

"Yes."

"Timothy?"

"What?"

"When the new chain is done, what will happen?"

"I don't know, but saving lives can't be a bad thing." Timothy's voice suddenly took on a different timbre and he seemed to be speaking in harmony with himself. "It's time to wake up now, Tim."

"I don't want to."

"Please, Tim. It's time to wake up." Timothy was gone, the blackness now more and more gray.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Abby, they said not to rush him," Tony chided, softly, trying not to awaken the other sleeping figures in the room.

"I'm not rushing. It's been two days. It's time for him to wake up," Abby retorted, her voice also muted. She sat beside the bed watching the steady rise and fall of Tim's chest, hearing the steady beeps indicating the continuation of life. Beneath the blanket and the hospital gown, she knew, was a host of bruises from all the bullets that had hit his vest. Also hidden by the blanket, Tim's legs were a network of bandages covering all his injuries. His arms, visible to the world at large, bore solemn testimony of Tim's mad dash across the warehouse. At least his heart was still beating.

"I... don't... want to..." The words were nearly unintelligible, hardly distinguishable from a soft whisper, but there was intent behind them.

Abby turned from Tony back to Tim, a smile on her face. "Please, Tim. It's time to wake up."

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Tim felt himself waking up, in spite of his firm belief that this would not be a good idea. He couldn't think of why that would be when he'd been so pleasantly numb and unconscious. The waking world would not be so kind.

"Tim? You there?"

Finally, Tim decided that opening his eyes would be okay. His eyelids didn't hurt at least. He saw Abby, her expression nearly ecstatic. Slowly, he shifted his gaze and saw Tony, sitting in a chair a little further away. His expression was one of feigned nonchalance, but his rigid posture indicated something else. Tim's eyes wandered a little further and he took in the presence of Ziva, asleep for the moment, although he wasn't sure how long that would last. Then, as he completed the circuit of the room, he saw Gibbs, standing at the window, looking at something beyond his sight. It was the most welcome view he'd had in a long while... no visions for the moment, just the present, the wonderful, uncorrupted present. Then, as he fully joined the real world, the pain hit him and he grimaced.

"Are you okay, Tim?" Abby asked, and then flushed as the sheer inanity of the question hit home. "Right, you're not okay. You've been shot too many times. Do you need a nurse? We should probably call your doctor or something and let them know that you're awake. I'm sure they'll want to run tests to make sure you're not going to die again. You _died_, Tim. Twice! I don't want you to do that again. You hear me? Not again..."

Abby continued to speak in that vein until, slowly, painfully, Tim lifted an arm and put his un-IV-ed hand over her mouth. She smiled sheepishly, knowing that her mouth had been running away with her.

"Shhh..." he managed and smiled. Then, exhausted by the effort, he dropped his arm back to the bed and closed his eyes, drifting away again, relishing the disconnect between the pain of reality and his consciousness.

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When he next woke up, after an indiscernible passage of time, he felt like opening his eyes wasn't so bad. He did so and saw that Ziva had taken Abby's place. Tony was in the same place he had been, but his head was tilted back and he was snoring. Gibbs was gone.

"You are back, McGee?" Ziva asked. She managed to look merely happy, but there was relief in her voice.

Tim nodded without speaking. He wasn't sure how coherent he really was and Ziva's expression was happy, but not without a tinge of concern.

"Do want me to get your doctor?" she asked.

Tim took a deep breath, winced and shook his head. "You... saw?" he asked, softly.

"Saw what?"

Nope, not clear. In his head, he said, _You saw Mac and me on the video. You saw what he did._ However, what came out was, "Me... the... video."

"Abby told us about it. Why didn't _you_?" Ziva asked.

Tim surprised her by letting out a wheezy chuckle. "Would... you... have believed... me?" He celebrated having managed to utter a sentence complete with subject _and_ verb.

Ziva smiled. "No, you are right. I would not have believed. None of us would have. I'm not sure that I do even now."

Tim took a breath and marshaled his fuzzy thoughts. "On... my computer..."

"We read your note. That is the only reason I don't think you are crazy."

"That was... only supposed to be... if I... died."

"You did, McGee. You died twice. Abby told you," Ziva said.

"Not... permanently."

"Semantics."

"Important... semantics," Tim answered.

"Yes, very important," Ziva said quietly. "What happened?"

Tim closed his eyes again. He was getting tired. Too much talk, not enough sleep. He must have dozed because it seemed like no time had passed before someone was lifting one of his heavy lids and shining a penlight that seemed to penetrate directly to his brain. He groaned and tried to pull away.

"Your pupils are still a bit dilated, Agent McGee. We'll dial back your meds a little bit. How's the pain?"

Tim managed to opened his eyes again and mumbled some nonsensical syllables. The doctor merely looked at him with a trace of amusement.

"Yes, I think we need to lower the levels. You're a very lucky man, Agent McGee. I don't know too many people who would take all that punishment and stick around. Most would give up."

"Wish... I had..."

"I'm sure you will occasionally. For now, let's work on getting you back to full coherency."

Tim just sighed and closed his eyes.

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Of all the ways he might have picked for his next awakening, again, after an indiscernible period of time, being Gibbs-slapped was not what he would have chosen. His eyes flew open and he noticed right away that he felt both more alert and more conscious of every bullet wound. Gibbs was standing there looking ready to lecture him. The worst part was that he couldn't do anything to stop it... well, he never could stop Gibbs from lecturing him, but he couldn't even pretend to be okay because he sure didn't feel it.

"Are you out of your mind, McGee?" Gibbs asked. Strangely, he didn't sound angry. Tim couldn't decide _what_ he sounded like, but it definitely wasn't anger.

"I don't think so, Boss," Tim answered and was happy to note that the words he thought of saying were the ones which came out of his mouth.

"Why didn't you _tell_ anyone?"

Tim raised his eyebrows incredulously. "You would never have believed me, Boss. I didn't need to see the future to know that. You wouldn't have believed that I could see what was going to happen."

"How do you know?"

Tim shifted position and winced at the injudicious movement. So much for trying to look stern. "Boss, _I_ wouldn't have believed me." He laughed a little. "At first, I _didn't_. I saw myself speaking and I thought I must be crazy. When I first... started to see, I didn't understand it. I couldn't."

"So, instead of trusting us..."

"It had _nothing_ to do with trust," Tim said loudly and then had to stop for a second and get his breath back. "Do you think I _wanted_ this to happen? Do you think I _enjoyed_ seeing you all die over and over again?" Tim stopped and tried to hold back the tears that pricked his eyes. "I hated it. It nearly tore me apart because I knew that they weren't just recurring nightmares. I was seeing a possible future in which _my_ actions or inactions led to _your_ deaths!" Tim stopped again, having run out of breath.

"So, you really believe that it had to be you. That you saw the future and could change it."

"Not the future, Boss. I saw _futures_. I saw the possibilities that arose with every decision I made. I saw what could happen if I decided to drive a different route to work. I saw what happened if I chose to talk to Tony or ignore him. I saw every possible future at every moment. Do you know how many seconds each day we teeter on the brink of dying? I do now. I won't ever forget how close we all came."

"We would have died?"

"Yes. In every future, I couldn't see any but the one I chose that would end happily."

"And you were willing to kill yourself if you failed."

"I couldn't have stood it, Boss. I really couldn't. There would have been too much blame, too much guilt because I would have _known_ that I had failed, even if no one did." He stared into Gibbs' eyes and realized that this situation was actually a lot like the time when Sarah had been under suspicion for murder. Gibbs had been angry, but it wasn't about what Tim had done. It was about him not _trusting_ Gibbs to help. He could see with crystal clarity how Gibbs must have taken his actions. He could see the invisible connections between the two of them, how intertwined _all_ their lives were. Suddenly, he could understand just what Timothy had been trying to explain underneath all the Stoicism. These complex connections, not just in this world, but between worlds as well, were what kept the worlds existing. A broken connection weakened the world and the whole network.

"McGee?"

Tim blinked and realized that he'd completely forgotten Gibbs was even there. Then, he realized that he'd also been actually seeing these things, not just thinking them. The visions... they were back, only changed, like they had been for Timothy.

"McGee?"

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tim said.

"For what?"

"For ignoring the connections." Tim considered what to do. He wasn't sure if he could stand up yet, and besides, he wasn't even in regular clothes. He didn't want these visions anymore. Changed as they were, he didn't want them.

"What connections?"

"The connections between all of us. There's something more I have to do."

"What?" Gibbs looked confused, and that gave Tim a moment of childish delight.

"Forge another link in the chain."

"McGee, could you please try and speak plainly?"

"Not yet, Boss. When I understand it... I will."

"Will you?" Gibbs' stern look was back.

"Yes. I promise," Tim said.

"Okay." Gibbs nodded and left.

Tim lay back and considered what he had to do. As he drifted off to sleep again, he saw in his mind's eye another McGee, sitting at a computer terminal, typing frantically. How little he knew that soon his biggest worry would be saving the cosmos, not just a fried hard drive.

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_Later..._

"McGee, this isn't going to work," Tony said. He leaned on a stool in Abby's lab and watched as Tim looked at his watch over and over.

"Yes, it will, Tony. I know what I have to do."

"Yeah, you're going to shoot laser beams into some... alternate... McGee's head."

"Sort of." Tim looked at the video again. So that was what had happened. Strange because it hadn't felt like heat. It had been... overwhelming. "Are you sure you want to watch me?"

"Yes. I want to see you disappear because that's a really neat trick."

"Hurry it up, Tim," Abby piped up.

Tim felt like he was supposed to be some sort of Houdini. However, he also knew that the jokes were as much a defense against this impossible world they now knew as a commentary on his coming departure. "Okay, okay. Just... be quiet alright? If I'm going to do this with an audience, I need to forget that you're here."

"Right, right."

Tim glared at Tony. "That means no talking, Tony." He looked at Ziva who was seated silently. She had said very little since they had come into the lab a few minutes ago. He had picked the lab because it was Abby's day off. Little did he know that she had been watching him ever since he'd come back to work.

Tony mimed locking his mouth shut and Tim had to bite back a heartfelt _if only_ response. Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the McGee he had been seeing. He was easy to find this time, in his little office at Norfolk. He had no team... yet, but Tim had seen what was coming for him and he knew that the moment was swiftly approaching when he _would_ have a team. He concentrated more and felt the pulsing mind of that particular McGee. He knew the moment he had succeeded and opened his eyes.

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"Tim!" Abby screamed. She had been waiting for it. She knew it was coming, but deep down, she hadn't actually believed it was possible. One minute, Tim was there, his face twisted with concentration and the next he was gone.

Tony and Ziva stood and stared in shock as the space formerly occupied by Tim became empty.

"It's really true," Ziva whispered.

"Did you think he was lying, Ziva?" Gibbs said from behind them. He too stared at the spot where Tim had been standing, but his expression was one of expectation, not fear.

"Not... not really."

Gibbs smiled. "He'll be back. He has something to do."

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"You... no... how... this... not possible..." McGee spluttered. He shot out of his seat in his crowded office and knocked over a pile of paper as he backed into the wall.

"Not _probable_," Tim corrected. "But it is possible. You know about the probabilities regarding other worlds, other planes, alternate universes. Whatever you want to call them, collapse the wave function and call it certainty because that's what's going on."

McGee's eyes were wide as dinner plates. "How..."

"I can't tell you that because I don't understand it all myself, but there's something that has to be done."

"What?"

"I have to give you the future."

"What?"

"I have to give you the future."

"The future? As in seeing what's coming?"

Tim smiled. This McGee had not had the years of experience with Gibbs that he had. He was timid and frightened. "Well, sort of. You will see _everything_ that's coming. Everything that _can_ happen and everything that _will_ happen. You will see it."

"I'm going crazy."

"No. This is very real." Tim leaned over and scribbled a note, stuffed it in an envelope, sealed it and handed it to McGee. "I am you in another plane. They call me Tim over there. What do they call you here?"

"McGee..." he said, then, a tentative smile crossed his face. "Most of the time, they just say 'hey you!'"

"Well, McGee. This is going to be a long and difficult road for you. I wouldn't do this if it wasn't necessary, but you have to save your team."

"I don't have a team. I just work in this dumpy little office."

"You will. Gibbs leads it and he'll come storming into your office and demand a lot of you, but the future will demand even more. You have it in you to do it... or you will." Tim smiled and took a step toward him. This time, McGee didn't back away, but he did stiffen. "I would like to say that I'm not going to hurt you, but considering my own experience, I know that's a lie. I _can _tell you that it's not permanent."

"What isn't?" McGee whispered.

"This." Tim brought up his hands and focused all his thoughts onto ridding himself of the infinite futures. Unlike the red shafts of light that had pierced his skull when Mac had done the transfer, Tim felt the visions leaving him in the form of a green diffuse light that enveloped McGee's head. His eyes widened more and more as the weight of what there was behind that light hit him full force. No vision would be as bad as the first infusion, but it was hard to explain all that. Timothy really was the best at it, teacher that he was.

Tim caught McGee as his legs buckled beneath him and eased him down onto the floor. He whispered, "You're not alone in this, McGee. We're all there. We'll be there for you." Then, he stood and walked to the door. He shouted into the hallway, taking one quick step out and back in. "We need some help in here!" Then, he closed his eyes again and focused. He heard a short gasp and smiled as he disappeared and reappeared back in Abby's lab.

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He opened his eyes and saw everyone standing there. Only Gibbs looked unsurprised.

"I told you that I wasn't crazy," Tim said, grinning now.

For some time, no one responded. What was there to say?

"That's it, then?" Gibbs asked.

"For now."

"What will happen, Tim?" Abby asked.

"I don't know, Abby. But right now, not knowing is pretty nice."

**The End... at least in this universe...**


End file.
